Cooking Outside

The cedar plank sits in the sink for about an hour before dinner. It always wants to float, so I put a bowl on top of it and leave it alone.

That's about all there is to it.

By the time the salmon goes on the grill, my part is mostly over. I close the lid and lean against the railing.

In the winter I cook facing a wall. The stove is against it, and I spend most evenings looking at the same cabinet doors. I don't really think about it.

Outside is different.

From the grill I can see the herbs that need to be picked again. The flowers are full this time of year, and something is always moving through them.

There are always animals around here. The finches are everywhere, and every few days a flock of turkeys wanders through the backyard like they've been invited. Sometimes they stay awhile. Sometimes they're gone before dinner is ready.

The salmon doesn't seem to care if I check it every thirty seconds, so I've stopped doing that. After a while the cedar starts to smoke just a little, and I smell it before I notice it. That's usually when I know it's getting close.

Most nights there's corn. If something's ready in the garden, that goes on the table too. A cucumber. Fresh basil. Whatever happened to be ready that day.